


like a freight train

by arysa13



Series: prompts filled (bellarke) [43]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26560753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysa13/pseuds/arysa13
Summary: Clarke finds Bellamy's old dating profile that he hasn't used in forever, but she sees all his preferences are the exact opposite of her.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: prompts filled (bellarke) [43]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/592417
Comments: 72
Kudos: 452





	like a freight train

Clarke hasn’t been on a dating site in forever, so honestly, it’s kind of fun to help Emori set up her profile. Things hadn’t ended well with Murphy, and after a string of Tinder hookups, Emori claims she’s ready to really move on and try a proper dating site, the one Raven met her current boyfriend Shaw on. There’s a sign-up fee and everything.

So Raven and Clarke have had fun picking Emori’s best photos, writing her bio, and selecting all her preferences, while Emori vetoed all their worst suggestions, and now they’re onto the _really_ fun part—vetting the men.

They’re crowded around Emori’s laptop, sitting on her living room floor. A selection of thirty matches have come up for Emori, and the way it works is you don’t actually get to see the guy’s photo unless you agree to the match based solely on his biographical information.

“Why do all men either love fishing or cars?” Clarke asks, after the fourth man Emori has declined based on the fact that he will clearly never love a woman more than he loves his four-wheel drive.

“It would be fine if they had _other_ interests too,” Emori says. “I like cars. And I could like fishing, I don’t know, I’ve never tried it.”

“Ooh, okay, what about this guy?” Raven interjects, then starts reading his bio from the screen.

“ _Looking for someone like-minded who enjoys fitness and the outdoors, particularly hiking and cycling. I also love kayaking, rock-climbing, soccer, and basketball. Would love to find someone to share those passions with me. I love a woman who can cook, not because I can’t (I can) but because I think great food is a way to share culture, history, and passion._

_I want somebody laidback, who isn’t afraid to go with the flow and be spontaneous. I don’t vibe well with people who are intense or highly-strung. I hate country music and refuse to listen to it, yes, that includes Taylor Swift. Especially Taylor Swift._ ”

Clarke interjects then. “Emori, I don’t know about you, but I could never be with a guy who doesn’t like Taylor Swift.”

“You know I only listen to metal.”

“Shh, I’m not done,” Raven huffs. “ _Looks aren’t as important, but I’m partial to tall brunettes._ ”

Clarke snorts out a laugh. “This guy would _hate_ me.”

“Yeah, but he’s perfect for Emori. What do you think, Em?”

“First halfway decent guy, I vote yes.”

Raven, who for some reason is the one in control of the laptop, hits the _accept match_ button. Immediately, the man’s photo and name pops up, and immediately, Clarke’s stomach drops. Raven and Emori both erupt into fits of uncontrollable laughter. Because, of course, it’s Bellamy. Clarke’s very own boyfriend.

“Clarke, you better watch out, Emori’s going to steal your man.”

“He must have lowered his standards since then, Clarke,” Emori jokes. Clarke isn’t laughing.

Actually, quite the opposite. She feels like she might burst into tears. Her chest is all tight, and she knows her reaction is probably unjustified, but she can’t help it.

“Grow up, Clarke,” Raven says, rolling her eyes when she notices Clarke’s expression. “We’re just kidding around.”

“I know,” Clarke snaps. “I don’t care about that.”

“What then?” Emori asks. “You don’t think he’s actually still using this, do you? The photo is obviously so old, he clearly hasn’t been on here in years. Look,” she adds, pointing out the _last active_ section on his profile, “last active 2012.”

Clarke nods, her jaw tight. It’s not that either, but she doesn’t feel like explaining it to her friends. “Yeah, you’re right,” she says, forcing a smile. “I’m being stupid.”

“Exactly,” Raven agrees. “Okay, who’s the next guy?” She turns her attention back to the screen.

“I think I’m going to take off,” Clarke says. “Bellamy gave me a shopping list, I’m supposed to pick some stuff up so he can make dinner.”

“Okay, whatever,” Raven says. “See you later. We’ll let you know if Emori finds the love of her life.”

Clarkes picks herself up off the floor, says a quick goodbye and hurries out of there. She’s not really in the mood anymore.

She does Bellamy’s grocery shopping on the way home, taking longer than she needs to, because for once she’s actually not eager to see him. The things he wrote in his dating profile haunt her. How is it possible that when he described his ideal woman, he described the exact opposite of Clarke? If those are the things he wants, what is he even doing with her?

She’s not tall, or brunette, for starters. Clarke hates fitness and the outdoors, and she especially hates sports. She’s not a terrible cook, but she’s not exactly Masterchef material, and she doesn’t _enjoy_ it, just does it out of necessity. She’s intense, and uptight, and high-maintenance—and she fucking loves Taylor Swift.

Emori was right, Bellamy clearly lowered his standards.

She makes it home eventually, and Bellamy is already in the kitchen, getting dinner prepped. He’s got on his navy apron, that Clarke bought for him, with his name specially embroidered on the front.

Clarke dumps the bags of groceries on the counter, and Bellamy looks up from where he’s chopping onions, and gives her a heart-melting smile.

“Just in time,” he says, putting the knife down and wiping his hands on his apron. He reaches for her, with the clear intent of kissing her, but Clarke pulls away from him, still hurt from reading his old dating profile. His wounded expression makes her feel a little guilty, but not enough to overshadow her dejection.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Clarke takes a deep breath. She has to talk about the calmly and maturely—they promised each other they always would. No passive-aggressive comments, or screaming matches, or walking out in silence because of a lack of proper communication. That’s how Clarke’s last relationship ended.

“Raven and I were helping Emori set up a dating profile today,” she explains. “And one of her matches was you.”

Bellamy hesitates, and she can see the gears turning in his head. “And you think…I’m still on dating sites?” he guesses. “I’m not, Clarke, I promise. I was on a few back in my twenties. I guess I didn’t delete all of them.”

“No, I know,” Clarke says. “It’s not that. It’s—it’s what you said in your bio. About what kind of woman you want.”

Bellamy groans. “Did I say something grossly offensive and misogynistic? If so, Murphy probably wrote it, he was helping me out with them.”

Clarke shakes her head. “It was all perfectly respectable. It’s just—it wasn’t me.”

Bellamy stares at her. “Well—I didn’t know you then.”

“No, but you seemed pretty certain about what you wanted. A fit, tall, brunette, who loves sports and cooking and sucking your dick.”

“I’m sure I didn’t say that last one. Besides, you do love sucking my dick.”

“That’s not the _point_ ,” Clarke huffs. “The woman you want is the complete opposite of me. Why are you even with me, when you could have anyone you want?”

Her voice cracks on the last sentence, and the tears spill over. She tries to blink them away to save herself the embarrassment, but it’s no use.

“Clarke, baby,” Bellamy says, all gentle and loving. He pulls her into his arms, and she lets him. There’s nothing more comforting than his embrace, even if he’s partly the reason she’s upset.

“I have exactly who I want,” he says. “All that other stuff is meaningless, just dot points on a list I thought I could check off and magically find the perfect partner. I was what, twenty-five? And a complete idiot. I didn’t know what I wanted.”

“But I’m not laid back or fun, and I don’t go hiking with you, or canoeing or whatever,” she sobs into his chest.

Bellamy kisses the top of her head, then pulls her back so he can look into her eyes. “Truth is, I once thought that stuff mattered. I was counting on meeting that woman, I was on every dating site, looking for her. But then I met _you,_ and there was no magic dating algorithm that could have predicted that. You hit me like a fucking freight train, Clarke. As soon as I met you, I knew I was done for. You’re it, you’re absolutely it for me. I _love_ your intensity, I love that you care so much, that you’re so organised. I love how you pretend to care about sports for me. I love cooking for you, knowing how much you appreciate it because you hate doing it yourself. I love you. I love _you_. Understand?”

Clarke nods, and she’s absolutely bawling now, but for entirely different reasons. He’s said he loves her a million times, of course, and she loves hearing it. But he’s never laid it out quite like that—never had the reassurance of him telling her he loves her exactly as she is, not in spite of her faults but because of them.

“You’re still crying,” he says worriedly. “Do you still not believe me? Because—”

Clarke cuts him off with a wet kiss, still half crying. He’s too surprised to kiss her back properly before she pulls away. “I love you too,” she says.

He nods, a little bewildered.

“I love you,” she repeats, kissing him again, and this time he kisses her back. “I love you, I love you, more than you will ever know.”

He brushes his nose against hers, then presses his lips against her tear-stained cheek. “I think I might have some idea,” he whispers.

“You know, in your dating profile,” Clarke murmurs, “you also said you hate Taylor Swift.”

Bellamy chuckles. “Well, you definitely fixed that,” he says. “Is that what you were really upset about? Did I not sing every lyric when we went on that road trip and you played nothing but Taylor Swift?”

“Good point,” Clarke says. “I think I’m definitely a good influence on you.”

“Definitely,” Bellamy agrees. “Now, back to Emori’s dating profile—you know this is going to crush Murphy, right?”


End file.
